


The Corpse Bride

by demondarling



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adventure & Romance, F/M, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4430165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demondarling/pseuds/demondarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story will be based off certain manga arcs later on! This is a story about a woman who dug her own grave. And her lover..he made her coffin. A grand life takes over Marticia Mortes's once commoner's world. But within nobility lurks danger, the kind one wants to stay oblivious to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Convenient Joke

“Earl Phantomhive wishes for you to become a part of the Phantomhive household, Lady Mortes.”

It took some time for Marticia to get used to the lifestyle as a maid. Luckily working as a maid was only part time, teaching the Earl riding and taking care of the stables were her main jobs, and her strengths. Finishing up laying out some hay for the horses to feed on, she wiped off the sweat which trickled down her forehead. Winter had crept up on England and every inch of the Phantomhive grounds were heated, to fit the needs of the young master. Marticia dumped the bag of horse feed next to her and exited the stable grounds. It was literally entering from one extreme to the other – whilst the stables were boiling, cruel winter climate shows through the outside, freezing up any being that cannot adapt. Rushing into the manor with a few squeals of displeasure, Marticia was ready to take her tea break. Quickly recovering from the horror she had just faced, she put the kettle on. A person stumbled into the room – it was none other than Mey Rin. “Marticia!” Mey Rin’s screech reached Mortes’s ears in a loud volume, “Mr Sebastian wants to see you! Lucky…” She pushed her glasses back up, rather concerned about the whole situation. “Sebastian wants to see me? Is it serious?” Marticia read the concern off of Mey Rin’s expression.

“Marticia, I need you to deliver these invitations for the Christmas ball. This is an urgent matter.”  
Oh boy.  
“Of course, I’ll get it done.” Marticia answered simply. But she still remained a little curious. “A Christmas ball? Sounds like quite the event.”  
“It’s a Phantomhive tradition. Such as the Easter banquet, the Fall Feast..common courtesy of a noble to hold these events.” Sebastian found some sympathy for the woman’s naivety concerning these kinds of things, “This will be something new for you, I gather?” He wore a tight lipped smile, “Let’s make it the best experience you can have. But first, there must be guests.” His glance dropped down sharply to the letters that were in Marticia’s grip, indicating that the task had to be fulfilled. Pronto. “Right, yes!” Hurrying seemed to be today’s trend for her, seeing as once again, she rushed to her hooved companion, Baron, and rode her way into the industrial city of London.

“Duke Farrington…Vis Count Druitt..” She flicked through the invitations which were intricately embellished with the finest calligraphy and the Phantomhive seal. This can only be Sebastian’s work. Baron’s hooves clipped and clopped on the pavement, strolling through the city streets, going from one destination to the next. “Let’s see, who’s next on the list?” You can rely on Sebastian to give you a list of the order of delivery which calculates the shortest, yet most effective route. She pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper from her coat pocket and unfolded it. “Check, check..ah, there we go.” Marticia took a double take at the next name, if one could say it was one, “Undertaker? What kind of name is Undertaker? Must be a nickname..maybe he’s some morbid, depressed guy.” Continuing to chat to herself, “Ha, wouldn’t it be funny if he actually worked as an undertaker?” Marticia let out a ‘pfft’ and held back laughter. Another double take took place when she trotted past a building marked ‘Undertaker’, with cobwebs and coffins “decorating” it. She glanced down at the paper. Then glanced back at the building. Repeat. The address matched.

This is a very convenient joke.

Standing in front of the shop, Marticia picked out the fitting invitation and packed the rest back into her bag. Her eyes stared at the door, hesitating to enter. Her free hand grabbed to clutch on her bag’s strap after pushing the door open and stepping inside.  
“Hello?”  
“Hello?”  
No answer.  
“He must be out then.” Marticia mumbled to herself and turned around on her heels only to face a gown and wriggling fingers, followed by a deep chuckle. Marticia greeted the man with a high pitched scream and a slap at the hands. “Who are you to do something like that!?” Marticia huffed and folded her arms across her chest after saving herself from stumbling back and falling. “I’m just the man you need, dearie~” The grey haired joker covered his chuckling by raising his oversized sleeve. “You mean you’re Undertaker?”  
“The one and only.”  
She certainly didn’t see anyone else in this room.  
“I usually ask for people to make me laugh to get anything out of me.” The funeral director confessed in a more serious tone, “But your shriek was funny enough to let it count.” Undertaker seated himself on his desk chair and rested his head on his hands, giving her a toothy grin, “What did you come here for then, Marticia?”  
“H-How-“ She was growing angry for a reason she couldn’t find an answer to, “How do you know my name!?”  
“A little birdy told me the little Earl got a new worker, that’s all.” Another chuckle sounded, “Don’t get so worked up now, Miss Mortes~”  
He was definitely and interesting character, Marticia judged. She couldn’t help but scoff with a smile. “Right. We can talk to birds now, can’t we?” She walked up to the desk and slid the envelope towards him. “I came to deliver this invitation to you. Earl Phantomhive cordially invites you to his Christmas ball.” Her eyes shone just thinking about it.  
“Did he now?” Undertaker took the letter into his hands and opened it, scanning through the contents, “How kind of the little lord Phantomhive to invite a common funeral director like me to such a grand event! All the wonderful music, the dancing..” Undertaker started in his tuneful voice, rising from his seat and imitated dancing by swaying his arms from side to side and humming a made up tune. It was Marticia’s turn to chuckle. “You seem to have some experience with these events. I have yet to attend one of its sort.” Her thoughts lead to a glamorous image of the grandest sort of ball form in her mind, drifting to that world. She snapped back into the present after hearing laughter cracking up close to her. “Hey now, don’t be mean!” Marticia snapped at Undertaker, “I’m more of a commoner than you ever will be.” She blurted out. His reaction was subtle, unseen by the girl. An eyebrow rose, and his head cocked to the side slightly. “Oh, really? My, you should think more highly of yourself.” His hands clasped both of her shoulders from behind, “Or you won’t achieve any of your desires. Confidence is key.” Marticia stepped out of his grip. “How are noblemen described? Good hearted? Thoughtful? My, I still have yet to meet one of those.” Undertaker continued. Mortes looked behind her shoulder to gain sight of him from the corner of her eye. “Snobby. Pretentious. That sounds more like it. All that comes from their overpowered confidence sourced from their riches. I’m sure you know a story involving some hero. They are often commoners. And yet they still build up the confidence to accept they need to slay the dragon, save the damsel in distress~” He hopped on his desk to sit, “Their confidence is a purer form. Riches will get the better of you, so be wary~”  
Marticia turned around to see him properly, “That was quite the lecture you gave me. What was that for?”  
“I don’t get living guests very often you see,” Undertaker pondered, “So if I do converse, it’s to myself. It’s nice to know someone is capable to listen to you, literally.” Another grin formed on his lips as Marticia left the store without a word, but with rolling eyes and a tiny smile.


	2. Seamstress Sass

For the rest of the journey Marticia simply couldn’t get his words out of her mind. Confidence is key. But for what? She was glad to return to the manor and have everybody talking to her, slowly getting rid of that viral voice that was spreading through her head. She could also finally enjoy her cup of tea. Marticia leaned onto a wall in the servant’s break room, daydreaming about the day’s events. Undertaker wasn’t the only interesting fellow she encountered, since the Vis Count had an eccentric personality which she couldn’t adapt to in anyway, unlike with the funeral director. Aleister Chambers was a handful, she had discovered – he’ll be some kind of highlight at the ball, she was sure of it. “A penny for your thoughts?” Sebastian had just entered the room and immediately spotted the thoughtful state Marticia was in. “Hm?” Her ears pricked up at the sound of being called, “Nothing all too special. Although that’s not what I can describe the Vis Count as.” Snickering, she finished her drink and set her cup aside. “Vis Count Druitt.” Sebastian echoed in a staccato, with a hint of dispassion. “Yes, he’s quite a troublesome fellow.” He started washing up the dishes he had brought from the dining room. “Talking about fellows,” Marticia decided to continue the conversation since she never found the time to talk to the head butler, “I also met Undertaker.”  
“I’m sorry for having to put you through that.”  
“What do you mean? If you’re apologizing for anyone, do it on the behalf of Druitt.”  
His head turned to the side to back the maid who was standing beside him, still, not interrupting his dishwashing duties, “Is that so? So he didn’t torment you to tell him a joke?”  
“My scream was enough, he said.”

He blinked. Sebastian had no interest in digging any further after hearing that. “Very well. At least you got to know what kind of people are in the noble class and who young master is familiar with.” He dried his hands with a cloth and handed it to the maid, “Remember to finish the laundry. Once you get that done Mey Rin can deal with the rest.” The butler rubbed his hands and exited the room without another word. It’s the sort of exit Marticia was used to by now, so she paid no attention to his bluntness. Getting straight to work, she collected all the filthy gowns and garments and started scrubbing the dirt and stains off with the rest of the energy she had after this day. “Marti!” Nobody else used that nickname besides Finnian, “I haven’t seen you at all today!” He pouted, resting his arms on his hips, “Have you heard of the Christmas ball that’s coming up?” She wasn’t the only one whose eyes shone at the mentioning of it. “I was the one assigned to deliver the invitations, Finny.” She chuckled softly, taking a little break from cleaning, “What should I wear though?” Her eyes scanned the dress she was wearing at the moment. It was a simple black gown with a layering and a ruffled collar, “This is the best I have, to be honest.” A frown formed on her lips. “Your clothes? You won’t have to worry about that, Marticia.” Mey Rin popped into the conversation, “Nina will take care of that. She’s tailoring a new outfit for the Earl, and she won’t dare to leave with us looking like this.” Her glasses shook as she giggled. “Us Phantomhive’s get the best treatment a servant could wish for!” Finny said, and one could hear he emphasized ‘Phantomhive’ with pride.

“I cannot believe the wreck you are. Despicable.” Nina scolded Ciel, followed by a hiss, “I’ll get your outfit tailored for tomorrow’s event. It’ll be my best creation yet.” She flung her measuring tape across her shoulder and stepped back to frame Ciel’s body with her fingers placed into a square. “Yes. Nina doesn’t fail, not even with the biggest catastrophe.” The tailor smirked with pride. Her next move was to scan the rest of this manor’s residents. “Look here..” Nina mumbled as her heels strutted towards the girls she wasn’t familiar with, “Why do the Phantomhive’s seem to hire such beautiful girls?” Nina played with Marticia’s hair, whilst the victim stood there frozen, looking directly into her eyes. “Nina, please don’t harass our staff.” Ciel grumbled, pushing her aside with his walking stick. “My apologies, she despises us men and favours woman immensely.”  
“They’re the nicer gender to work with.” Nina stated without hesitation and wrapped a measuring tape around Marticia’s waist a moment later.  
“Uh, I..” Marticia didn’t know how else to react except to give the tailor the space she needed and raised her arms in the air like she was proven guilty.  
“Get that dress off and burn it, it’s hideous.”  
She was guilty of a bad fashion sense, that is.  
“I actually like this dress, it used to be my moth-“  
“No you don’t, and nor did you mother.” Nina squabbled, measuring her shoulder width. “Your dress shall be done in time for the ball. It’ll be something you actually like.” This woman was more sarcastic than Sebastian. “I’m off then, tata.” She made her way by whipping her tape around like it was a hand she was waving.  
“Nina. A very professional and successful seamstress, I assure you.” Sebastian introduced her to the newest addition of a maid, “Her work is always perfection. You’ll be satisfied, I guarantee it.” Sebastian gave a soft smile and let out chuckle. “You’re meeting all the interesting personas lately, I hope you’re coping.”  
“I’ve had worse, don’t worry, Sebastian.” Marticia returned the smile and lifted her dress skirt to check how exactly it looked like. “Is it that bad?”  
“Not something I can judge, I’m afraid.”  
Marticia glared at her colleague who’s sarcastic tone came right off. “I better get changed then.”


	3. One, Two, Three. One, two, Three.

The clock struck seven, and the first bang was to be heard at the front door of the manor. “Is everything ready?” Sebastian questioned the three servants that were obediently standing nearby. “Yessir!” They answered in unison. “Where’s Marticia?” The demon’s eyes scanned the room, the stable girl nowhere to be seen. “Mey Rin, go fetch her. I’ll take care of the guests, along with Bardroy and Finny.” He signaled them over to him to welcome the guests in, as the maid made her way to her friend’s room.  
“Marticia?” Mey Rin peeked around the door since her knocking didn’t get a response, “Is anything wrong?” She stepped into Mortes’ bedroom, gaining sight of her trying to tie her hair up in frustration. “Marticia..” She fixed the position of her glasses, “You look absolutely stunning.” Her high pitched voice rose a pitch higher. “Why, thank you, Mey Rin.” Marticia could see the reflection of her friend behind her through the mirror she was standing in front of, “Sebastian assured me it was going to be excellent. And I thoroughly agree!” She couldn’t help but beam at the sight of her reflection. Her hands traced out the silhouette of her wider ball gown, which brought out her figure a lot nicer then that ‘rag’ she wore before. “It’s beautiful. If only I was worthy enough to wear it. I would be if I could get my hair to behave.” Marticia muttered to herself, poking a clip through a messy bun she attempted. “Dearie me, let me fix that up for you!” Mey Rin came to the rescue and helped pin her hair up to the classy messy bun she so dearly wished. “Good, good, looks nice.” Mortes approved with a smile and patted the side of her hair to place it into, what in her eyes, was perfection. She turned to the exit, her gown flowing with her, and left the room, only to walk into a grand ballroom which looked like a living dream. Only a few minutes into the event, and a mass of people had already arrived, chattering and drinking the finest the Earl could offer. Melodic harmonies were coming from the string quartett, who were strumming their instruments with such passion, it was hard to imagine them ever stop playing. Her eyes scanned every last detail of the room- from the decorations that were put in place by a certain perfectionist of a butler, to the buffet, which was of such variety, Marticia had a hard time deciding what to try first. “Do you like what you see, Lady Mortes?” A deep voice sounded from nearby.  
“Yes, indeed I do.” The grin didn’t fade one bit as she replied to Sebastian, “What’s with the title, I’m a maid.” She raised a brow in curiosity.  
“Why, it was difficult for me to tell you apart from the other high-class women in that gown, leading me to address you with care.” A smirk graced on his lips.  
Marticia shook her head with soft laughter, “I see. Very well, Sir Michaelis.” She observed the crowd of nobles for a moment, “Seems like everybody made it, the room is full of people!” Not quite used to seeing this number of people that were gathered in the ball room, her tone had a hint of disbelief in it.  
“Not quite everyone, I’m afraid.” Sebastian informed, “A couple of dukes couldn’t make it. Nor is Undertaker in sight.”  
Undertaker isn’t here?  
Her alerted gaze went through the crowd again, searching for the oddball she had encountered the other day. “You’re right..he’s not here.” She confirmed quietly.  
The butler eyed the disappointed girl from the corner of his eyes with a light frown. “Don’t dwell on it, he wouldn’t contribute to the evening much anyway. Enjoy tonight. It’s taking off a day from your holiday schedule.” Michaelis scoffed with his eyes glazed in sadism. He plated up some glasses of champagne and made his way off to serve the guests.

The clock struck nine. Marticia couldn’t get enough of the glamour that took over that evening. Eating caviar, dancing with dukes- it was like a fairytale, a dream come true. “Bardroy, this may be the best day of my life!” She exclaimed to her chef friend in a louder volume, due to the overwhelming noise of ball music in the background. “Aye, I could agree. But I haven’t gotten a girl for meself yet.” He snickered, lighting up a cigar, “Though none of ‘em would ever dream of even talking to a commoner cook like me.” It took a moment for Marticia to realize what thought was racing through her mind. Not this again. “Confidence..Confidence is key!” Struggling to get the words out of her mouth, she finally decided to put that plaguing kernel of wisdom into good use. “Come on, don’t tell me you can’t win a Lady over, even for one night?” She nudged Bardroy gently and pushed him into the crowd. “Go. Go!” Violently shooing him away, she was satisfied with her good deed. You should give yourself a pat on the back.  
Nothing especially dramatic occurred that evening. If somebody were to write it all down, any reader would go, ‘So where’s the good stuff?’. The evening passed with the guests enjoying themselves and getting pampered by the Phantomhive’s high standards of service. Now the clock struck midnight, and the manor was a whole lot quieter. The last few carriages had just set off, and the manor’s staff were busy cleaning up what the guests kindly left over for them to busy themselves with labour. “That’s the last of it.” Sebastian announced, clapping his hands to gain attention, “Now we can go and rest.” Three staff members groaned in relief, and Sebastian left without a care, as he had Ciel to attend to.  
Marticia waited patiently for everyone to leave the ball room. She wanted to feel the nostalgia she had just had this evening for a little while longer, twirling and stepping around in a waltz by herself, scoffing at her nonsense.

“Why, I thought Cinderella’s magic wore off at midnight~”  
An all too familiar voice made Marticia freeze to the spot she had twirled to. “Undertaker?” She turned to make sure it wasn’t only a voice in her head messing with her. But it was the real deal, standing right in front of her. “Fashionably late, are you know?” Marticia commented, seeing him dressed in fitting formal attire and groomed hair. “I had some business to attend to.” He put simply, obviously hiding a thing or two. “I see. Well, ball’s over. Maybe next year.” Marticia teased him with a smirk, yanking his braid very gently, “Your dancing skills were very impressive the other day” She grinned “It’s a shame, I would have loved to have danced with you.”  
“What’s stopping us?”  
His words surprised her, taken aback by his grip of her hand which he slipped off his hair.  
“Well,” Stuttering, she managed to reply, “There’s no music. What kind of dance would it be if we had no music to accompany us?” Marticia questioned him, her hand still in his grip. It hadn’t even occurred to her to move it.  
“Lady Mortes, can I have this dance?” Undertaker bowed over slightly, not the response she was expecting. She stepped closer to him, and rested her arm on his shoulder- her gestures seemed instinctive. Being at least a head taller than her, Undertaker loomed over her with a soft smile, his fringe parting just the tiniest bit. A glint of a vibrant colour escaped from the parting before he shook his hair back into place.  
“I will lead.”  
He didn’t have to say this very loudly. It was only the two of them in the eerie quietness that took over the manor’s ball room. They started a slow waltz.

One, two, three. One, two, three. 

Their pace was in sync as they danced around the room, lost in each other’s gaze. A quiet hum of a waltz tune passed through Undertaker’s lips- his very own composition. The nostalgia came flooding back to the daydreaming dame; it seemed to her as if the eventful evening hadn’t yet ended, the string quartet’s music filling the room, along with chattering. Yet in this scenario, all eyes were on them. They were blank, staring eyes. Thinking about it, Marticia saw the guests in a ghostly pale state, lifelessly droning to the hummed tune of her dance partner.

Fin.

They had stopped dancing, and Marticia drew in a sharp breath, blinking herself out of the strange daydream.  
“Is something the matter?”  
Marticia looked up to him, with a worried expression. He sounded different. Where was that tuneful voice? “Sorry, I lost count, and..” Quickly thinking of an excuse, she loosened her body from his grip and started fiddling with her gloves. “I must be tired, that’s all.” She exhaled with a scoff and a lopsided smile. That must be it. Why else would she see such weird things?  
“Ah, I see. I should be on my way then.” His voice returned to its husky self, “I bid you farewell and goodnight, Lady Mortes.” It was his first and last chuckle of the evening, taking her hand and kissing the back of it gently; the Lady herself just watching the gesture happen before her eyes with a near soundless gasp.  
“Marticia, what are you doing here?” Sebastian had entered the room, having heard some rustling and voices sounding from the ball room.  
“I-“ She stammered, “I can explain!” She turned around to see Undertaker’s reaction. If he would have been there. Blinking repeatedly, she couldn’t believe her eyes. He disappeared, vanished in a matter of seconds. Or was it even a second?!  
“What is it?” the butler asked again, impatiently. “Close the window, will you? And go rest, dawn will break in a matter of hours…” Sebastian shook his head, having lost interest in the nuisance of a situation.

Once again, Mortes waited for him to leave the room before she wandered to the window, looking outside at the glorious full moon that shone high up in the sky. “He couldn’t have..” Her thoughts trailed into her voice, looking down now. It was a good ten meter jump from up here. “That’s suicidal!” Shaking her head in panic she closed the windows and pulled the curtains together, closing off the horrific scenery. But something deep inside told her that he was still around. And something deep inside told her, that there was far more to it than could ever cross her mind.


	4. Bone Biscuits

It has been a couple of weeks since the ball had taken place, and Sebastian had been absolutely right- the event should have been considered a holiday, because since then, any staff member found it a luxury to take a moment and breath. Spring has come around, and Marticia was still dwelling on the events that happened on that certain evening. Since that night, she has made no contact with Undertaker. Her heart longed to see him again, but her soul..her soul felt plain. It had no opinion on this matter, nor did it seem it ever will. Her mind was a spoilsport and decided to stay focused on her maid duties. "You seem very out of touch with reality, Marticia." Sebastian had been watching her for a good minute now, her stance a little too stiff and mechanically clutching onto her sun hat as she gazed off into the distance. "You're right," Marticia replied with disinterest, "I pretty much am at this point. I don't know what to think about anything anymore." So many unanswered questions were haunting her. "Sebastian, would you mind if I took the evening free?" She turned to the butler at this very moment, her brows furrowed as she spoke, pondering whilst asking, "I've completed all of my tasks. I need to sort something out."

This was interesting. Sebastian's head tilted slightly back, looking at the girl from a higher height. It's not as if he hadn't noticed her curiously odd behavior lately. It must be related to that pesky funeral director. A spark of regret haunted him in the back of his mind, to have ever sent her off to deliver the invitations. But he was too proud to admit it just yet. "I can't see why not." It was rare for him to reply simply, but he did so. What was going on with her? He must keep a close eye on her from now on. His eyes didn't leave sight of her until she made her way off, only becoming a speck in the distance.

The hour ride felt like a matter of minutes to Marticia, the imaginary conversation that she held in her thoughts kept her company. She hadn't thought this through thoroughly. How should she approach Undertaker? She doesn't even have a reason to stop by at his shop. Maybe she should 'accidentally' ride over a rat and pretend she is distraught of her actions and wants it to be buried in a peaceful ceremonial manner. That idea was too stupid, even for her. Once again her body hesitated to enter the shop as she stood before it. Maybe she should listen to her body and return home. Yes, that was a decent.

"You look stiffer than some of the corpses I meet~" The smart remark came from the man she was looking for. "You like turning up when it's all too convenient, don't you?" Marticia has gotten so used to getting snapped back into reality, her mindset couldn't be bothered to act startled any longer. "It's hardly a 'convenient timing' when you seemed to be looking for me." Undertaker let out his signature chuckle, pointing to his shop, "Or has my fringe grown so long I can't recognize my own store anymore?"

"I wish you were wrong..."

"What brings you here today, hm?" Undertaker passed her and opened the door, "Come on in, dear." Marticia followed him inside without hesitation. Deciding to be honest, she answered, "I haven't seen you since the ball. And they way you left made me wonder if you were even alive." This sounded like a joke, but she wore a concerned look on her face. A moment of silence commenced whilst he let down a bag on his desk and only slowly turned back to face her. "A man's got to do to what he has to to not get caught, you know?" A tight-lipped smile formed on his lips, summarizing his actions in a dubious way. He had a way with words, Marticia thought. Perhaps she should let this one slide. Above all, she was glad to see he wasn't injured or worked up about what happened, not even a bit. "And this man also went on a shopping trip, I see?" She diverted the conversation onto a totally different topic, her thoughts completely letting go of the incidents of the ball night. "Just what I need to make my biscuits, you see." One by one, he got out the ingredients. "Biscuits?"

"You don't know my biscuits?" Undertaker pulled out a bone shaped biscuit out of an urn, "They're world renowned, tut tut." Grinning as he offered her one, he waited to watch her reaction. "These are really good!" Marticia smiled, munching happily on it, "But I may know a way to make them even better."

"Do you now?" He said the last word with a trill, pushing the door to his kitchen open, "Work your magic and prove it." He gestured her to enter, and she did with a confident grin. "I may be the stable girl, but I have a knack for baking." Marticia explained her confident looks to her competition, rolling up her sleeves. Undertaker listened to her rambling with soft gaze and smile. "Marticia dear, would you mind me working on a few documents I have to sort out for a client?" He seemed to be in a hurry. "Oh right, of course." Mortes flashed him a warm smile, "I don't want to distract you from your work. I shouldn't be staying around here, to be honest.." Her glance fell to the bowl with a few mixed ingredients in wonder. "Don't shy away, stay around." Undertaker felt the hint of doubt in her voice, "I'll be waiting for my biscuits to arrive~" As soon as he left the room, a warm blush filled Marticia's cheeks. It felt so good to be around him again. And in his kitchen, making him something? Mentally she was squealing, but physically she was preparing the dish as naturally as she managed.

It didn't take her all too long, they weren't hard to make. She strolled out of the kitchen with the biscuits plated and chirped, "They're ready! They're at their best when fresh." Marticia placed the dish besides him on the desk. What's this? She looked at the various pages of paper that were spread across the table. Human anatomies, Latin wordings..but the word resurrection caught her eye. Hands blocked her sight, quickly shifting the papers to the side and stacking them back to the corner in a blink of an eye. "Marticia." The word was emphasized like a scolding. A pause was taken before Undertaker continued speaking, "How delightful, they look delicious~" His voice perked up suddenly, taking a bite of her creation, "You weren't lying, you improved them by a mile. What's your secret?" Marticia was glad to hear the positive comment. "My secret? I don't think you'd believe me if I said 'love'." Mortes chuckled, "My secret ingredient is..." Leaning in to whisper it, a dramatic pause commenced, "Cinnamon sugar with a hint of cumin!" Revealing it proudly, a small grin followed. Undertaker started laughing, "My, I would have never guessed something so simple could change something so immensely.." One after the other he packed the biscuits into his cookie urn. Marticia watched him, feeling no need to reply. "I'm glad you like them!" Her eyes took double take at the wall clock. "It's so late already?!" Grabbing her bag and flinging her jacket on, she made her way to the exit. "It was nice seeing you again." Marticia slightly confessed less audibly.

"No worries. We shall greet each other again soon."

Don't think the images of the 'documents' slipped out of her mind. At first she thought it was mortician related- but that one word disturbed her theory. Resurrection. What Marticia thought she could slowly puzzle together didn't fit anymore. She had to start over. The hour ride back home felt like a day. By the time she arrived back at the manor, evening had fallen and she was just in time for dinner. Noticing Sebastian gave her a weird glance or two, Marticia needed to be more careful from now on. This butler had a knack for digging up every piece of information he desired.


	5. Potions

“You can’t make me choose! Those are terrible conditions!”

In the midst of the woods, two figures stood hidden amongst the dense trees of the forest. A man and a woman were talking.  
“Undertaker. It’s not fair.”  
“Why so? I never said it was going to be fair. I’m giving you a choice. As simple as that.”  
“Either to stay at the Phantomhive Manor. Or run away with you. How can I leave a stable life behind? Everything that’s dear to me, for someone who vanishes for months on end, and reappears out of nowhere demanding I make a choice?” Marticia was furious. Her expression showed it plainly. What did he expect from her at this point? They were never anything. Acquaintances at most.  
A pause haunted the forest, the reaper looking at the angered woman before him. His gaze turned towards the rising sun, which started floating into the skies seemingly not far away from them. “Marticia.” A monotonous voice came from the man, unusual for his character, “You have to make a choice. I can’t offer you anything different, unfortunately.”  
She stared at him for a moment, thinking it through thoroughly, even when she knew that wasn’t what he wanted from her. “Where would we go? What’s your plan?” She couldn’t believe herself- actually considering wandering off with a near complete stranger- what’s gotten into her? Sure of herself, hoping she would have forgotten all those feelings she once had for him, her thought pattern didn’t quite make sense. Why even consider going with him at this point? “I’m sorry, scratch that.” Her hand waved her previous statement off, only to be snatched by his hand. “Marticia. No doubting yourself now. You know how you feel.” About me- he wanted to add, but that would only cause a denial from her. “Any more hesitating and you’ll just end up in a confusing denial. Just make up your mind.” A slight hiss came through. That was odd..Undertaker knew himself well, and getting worked up wasn’t his forte. The reaction he became from saying that was a simple blink from Marticia. “Why come back to me.” Her voice became wispy. She didn’t have to be loud to be heard, “I’m of no use to you.”  
“You’re quite the opposite.” Undertaker answered, returning the lowered tone, “Tell me, what has the Phantomhive household taught you since you started?”  
“H-Herbology,” Mortes stuttered, her answer only getting a glare which prompted her to be more specific, “Poisons. I study and make poisons.”  
“That’s no herbology now, is it?” He chuckled, shaking his head, “Your talents are what I need. And who better to ask than a lady I trust?” A glint escaped from his fringe, sunrays hitting his face and revealing his veiled eyes just by a bit.  
Trust, in me? Marticia couldn’t quite believe him. But his words shot into her mind like poison, taking over her senses bit by bit. “What in the world makes you in need for my lethal work?” This was the last question she would ask-

“Come with me. You’ll find out then.”

It was surprisingly easy for her to leave: For some reason both the Earl and Michaelis didn’t seem to hesitate to let her take her annual leave in such an inconvenient time of year- something about them leaving themselves to investigate too, it seemed. Not that it bothered Marticia in any way. She packed her suitcase and bid her friends farewell, now finding herself in a carriage which destination she wasn’t aware of.  
“Was it hard for you to find me?” Undertaker’s question ended with a trill, “I hope it wasn’t too much of a fuss to climb through the bramble bushes and jump over the trench.”  
“I thank you for that, by the way. I thoroughly enjoyed getting my dress ripped and falling into muck.” Marticia spoke in a staccato, gesturing to her now ragged outfit and muddied boots and gloves, “There was this stupid root sticking out which I didn’t see,” Her saga was interrupted by sniggering, “Yes, it’s nice to be accompanied by a gentleman.” Mortes huffed and crossed her arms, guiding her gaze to look out of the carriage window. “Now now Marticia, forgive me~” The joker gazed at her with his typical grin, “I’ll let you in on a secret if you let me look at that pretty face~”  
Ah- what did he just say?! Her blush wasn’t to be controlled- where was all this coming from?! All of a sudden too! It took her a moment to collect her pale skin again and face the man again. “Here is the face. A secret? What secret?” She didn’t feel the need to question his sudden complimenting, I mean, she thought, why not let it go on? Insert mental chuckle. “Why, where we’re going, of course? Aren’t you just the tiniest bit curious?” His lips formed a smirk, entertained by her expression of realization. “Ah, yes! I would love to know, especially how it seems like we’re in the middle of nowhere..” Her eyes darted out of the window again, only seeing rough paths and woods leading their way. “It’s quite a cosy place, far away from the bumbling city..” Undertaker started, giving his best ‘once upon a time’ voice, “A place called Weston College. Ever heard of it, Marticia?”  
“Weston College? That’s that elite boys’ school, isn’t it?” Her brows furrowed, “What are we doing at a school?” What is he up to? Not that he will ever let her into that, that’s for sure. Marticia, her mental-self called out to her, you’ve forgotten to ask about a certain topic. “And what have you been doing all this time..when you were gone. Does that have something to do with Weston?” Marticia scanned his face, not that there was much to see, seeing as half of it was masked away by his hair. Nothing. How can she tell how he’s feeling or what he’s thinking, looking like that?  
“It does. You’ll find out in due time.” Slowly a smile curled itself onto his lips. Getting an answer from him took a few moments- which rather unsettled Mortes- it was happening too often for it to be just a coincidence. He wasn’t letting her onto everything, obviously, but her gut told her what he was up to wasn’t something overly pleasant. Let’s see what’ll happen, only time will tell, Marticia told herself who then became less talkative for the rest of the journey.

Weston College had an even greater impression on Marticia than when she saw the Phantomhive Manor for the first time. The grounds were pristine, buildings as grand as anything she has seen, and even the attendants were dressed in suitably fancy attire. What impressed her the most was the size of the grounds, “Undertaker, this place is huge!” She skipped along beside him, following him towards some chambers he was heading towards, “This is supposed to be a school, right? A whole village could live here.” Giving off a soft chuckle, her curious gaze followed the walls on which numerous supposedly important personas were depicted on in portraits. “There are more rooms here than scholars, yes,” Amused by her giddy behavior he let out a chuckle, “But only the crème de la crème attend here. Battling through in the game of wits, sports and arts.” He pushed doors taller than him aside (something quite weird for Mortes, since she was already a head smaller than him), revealing a spacious room filled with an official tone to it. “What is this place?” She stopped her skipping abruptly, eyeing Undertaker taking a seat on the big leather desk chair- the throne of the school. “You’re standing in the headmaster’s office, dearest Marticia of mine~”  
“And you are..?” This couldn’t be happening-  
“The newly appointed headmaster. You seem to be in such disbelief. How come?” He sniggered and gave a twirl in his chair, letting out a ‘whee’.  
“But. I mean, you are an undertaker, Undertaker. An undertaker. That’s what you were, at least.” Best sentence you’ve ever put together Marticia, she praised herself sarcastically.  
“You see, I’ve been dying for a career change.” He emphasized eerily, “This position was open, and I took the chance-“  
“I’m not buying that.” Marticia put simply, “But I gather you’re not going to tell me anything useful, are you?” Her giddy attitude vanished completely at this point, glaring at the man who was continuing to whizz around the room in his chair with a wide grin plastered on his face. “Tell me this then,” Her arm whirled the chair around for him to face her, “What am I doing here?”  
“You’ve forgotten already?” Marticia could sense he was making big puppy eyes underneath the fringe, “You are going to be whisking up a potion or two for me~” His grin grew even wider. “I understood as much,” She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the adult-puppy in front of him, “But where, and why?”  
“I’ll tell you where.” Undertaker rose from the chair and pulled Marticia along with him to the glazed windows at the other end of the office, “That building over there, that’s the nursing room. Marticia, have you ever dreamt of being a nurse?”  
“No.”  
“Ah. Putting that fact aside, you’re finally getting the opportunity to be one! Isn’t that great!”  
“I guess. Alright. But how can I make ‘potions’ if there’ll be children needing assistance in survival?” Harshly put, but not such a long-shot.  
“Nurses have unsupervised entry to the science rooms and laboratories. You can pick up anything you like from there.” Undertaker held his stare to the scenario outside the window, “And I’m sure you can manage going through a short health course I signed you up in just so you don’t accidentally kill anyone-“  
“Trust, you have in me. Right.”  
"But first," Undertaker took a step back and scanned her appearance, "We have to do something about this bramble bush bombing you've gone through." He started laughing at his 'genius' alliteration and fell back onto his chair. "Run along now, I've sorted out a uniform and guide for you. Edgar Redmund, head of the Scarlet Fox dormitory. Nice fellow."  
"So I'll be getting a tour guide whist you're doing?"  
"Paperwork. Loads of paperwork." Undertaker ushered her out with soft nudges, "We'll see each other in the evenings and discuss these matters further. Now, be good, dear~" The door closed in front of her face, the engravings on it pressing against her face. 

Her curiosity brought her here, and only that will press he on to make these posions he wanted of her. What are the results going to be? What will he use it for? And will she regret ever having done it? Only the future held the answers, and Marticia grew anxious to find out what it held. What end she will create.


End file.
